Sherlock Holmes ad the great 21st century
by hawkeye89891
Summary: Sherlock has fallen into the 21st century. Almost run over by a bus, seeing women in shorts and a ambulance making more noise than gun fire gets a bit too much for the detective. Until he meets John, who helps him with 21st century living.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock Holmes stared out of his window from Baker Street, watching the people below him. His favoured past time in his life. He watched women talk about their husbands and men talk of politics and money. None of which really interested him to the slightest degree.

Getting up with an annoyed grunt, he grabbed his coat, pipe and hat and went downstairs, ignoring Mrs. Hudson and soon, disappeared amongst the crowds. He loved being among people, figuring out their life and what they did for that life. As he turned off from Baker Street, he stopped seeing some street urchins playing with something. He ignored them as he went by and turned the corner only to walk into a door.

Pulling his now possible bruised face away from the wood, he looked at the door. It had been an archway before. Curious. As he grabbed the handle and twisted it, he heard something that could only be described as a motor car, but louder.

Still, he must investigate. As he pushed the door open and walked into the building, he cried out as he fell down into nothingness. When he landed on the pavement or possible road he looked up to see a red... What was that, a stagecoach? The driver leaned out, glaring at him. "Oi! Get off the road!"

Sherlock quickly got up and made it to the pavement and looked around. People talking on small boxes, women in trousers and something that should never be worn by a woman, showing her thighs. Men in suits, another with a hairstyle which only had hair in the middle.

Giving a strangled cry, he ran up the street and bumped into a police officer. Sherlock gave a sigh of relief. "Oh thank god, a policemen. Officer, could you tell me where Baker street is pl-please?"

"Of course sir, you're standing in it." Sherlock froze and looked round, this was not Baker Street. He looked up and saw something, like a giant bird flying through the skies. He moved away from the police officer and walked down the street. He grabbed a newspaper from a bin and froze, looking at the date.

"2012... Oh dear lord, no... No! This is not possible. I've travelled 100 years? No!" He felt his heart racing; something on two wheels drove past him at such a speed. He grabbed a man from the street. "What year is it?"

"Eh?" The poor man was obvisiliy starteled and confused.  
"What year is it man?" Sherlock now shouted.  
"2012!" With that he rushed off.

Sherlock leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, taking a second to gather his thoughts. He had jumped 100 years into the future. His friends were now long dead. He should be dead and yet, here he was. What was the first thing to do?

He made his way along Baker Street and found that his old home had been converted into a sweetshop. He carried on walking, but eventually everything got too much for him. The noise, those things on the road, those things in the sky. Covering his ears he felt his world spinning. The same police officer he had met found him again and looked at him. "Sir are you alright?" Sherlock didn't answer him, his eyes going everywhere at once. The police officer grabbed his radio.

"Yeah, I'm going to need an ambulance, I have a man here, can't smell any alcohol on him but clearly disorientated, maybe a tourist. Baker Street."

Sherlock winced as he soon heard sirens and looked at the ambulance in abject horror. The paramedics came over and sat him on the step. One of them shined a little... light thing in his eye. Sherlock went to grab it. "What is this device?"

"It's a torch sir, now would please calm down? I'm Charlie, do you know where you are?"

"Of course I know where I am! Baker Street London! My name is Sherlock Holmes!"

The paramedics looked at each other then sighed. "Very well, come with us Mr. Holmes, we'll get you to the hospital."

Sherlock went with them. The police officer watched them drive off, sirens blaring. "Strange things people call their kids now-a-days..."


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock made it to the hospital and instantly his eyes darted everywhere, trying to take everything in. He was placed in a room and left there for now. He looked at the machines surrounding him.

"What on earth..." He gently pressed a button on a machine and jumped when it beeped at him. He pulled his hand back away from the beeping machine and looked around, seeing a large red button on the wall. Once again, curiosity got the better of him and pressed it. Nothing happened, but soon a doctor came in.

"Ahh Mr... Holmes. I'm Dr. John Watson."  
"Watson? But you cannot be Watson, you look nothing like him!"

"Excuse me? Sir, you might have had a bad concussion to the head."  
"I have not had a concussion dammit! My name is Sherlock Holmes born the year 1854. My residence is at Baker Street, London!"

The Doctor sighed, rubbing his head. "Sir, that is impossible, that would make you over 100 years old."

"Do you believe in time travel Watson?" Despite this man not being Watson, he couldn't help saying it. "I didn't until today and I have proof that I come from that period."

John sighed deeply. "Oh god, why do I always get the loonies? Okay then, where is the proof?"  
"Here!" Sherlock pulled out a fresh newspaper from his waist coat. "Brought this morning from a newspaper boy."

John took it. "Okay, 1882, you could have brought a copy of this from a tourist attraction or something."

Sherlock glared at the Doctor. "And these!" He pulled out some money notes and coins. John now frowned and pulled the curtain too and glanced at them. "Okay, so say if you did fall through time and you are Sherlock Holmes, what is the name of your landlady?"

"Mr's Hudson."  
"Your friend's dog?"  
"Gladstone."  
"Your friend's fiancé?"  
"Mary, they are soon to be married."

"Okay, well anyone could know that. Ah! What was your third case?"  
"Excuse me? I thought you to be a medical man, not an integrator."  
"Just, answer the question."

"Very well." Sherlock answered stiffly. "The third case, which my dear Watson has called a case of identity, was of Miss Mary Sutherland. She was left rather well off with money and engaged to London man called Mr Hosmer Angel. On their wedding day, he leaves her. Rather tragic. Her young stepfather was disapproving of Mr. Angel and-"John put his hand up and slowly sat down.

"Okay, no one could know that stuff without studying the books day and night."

"Books? There are books about me?"  
"O-Okay, this is getting a bit weird for my liking. Look, if I leave you here for ten minutes, will you promise not to touch anything?"

"Well... Alright." He watched the doctor go out the door and to his word, didn't touch anything. John returned with books. "Look there is you, well, an interpretation."

Sherlock grabbed the books and frowned. "Good lord." He flicked through them. "This is what Watson wrote!"

"No, this is what Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote. You are a work of fiction or... You should be!"  
"I assure you I am not!"  
"I can see that!" John rubbed his head again. "Look, if you stay here, you are going to be put in the mental health ward. Are you able to walk?"

"Yes."  
"Good follow me. And don't say anything!"

John led Sherlock through the hospital, signing him out. "Mild concussion." He told the nurse. "Nothing serious, remembers where he lives now, not far from me so I'm taking him home."

The nurse nodded, rather not interested. John led Sherlock from the hospital and over to his car. He opened the door and stopped looking at the detectives' face.

"It's a car, you know... a motor car?"  
"Oh! Looks more like an armoured tank, don't they use horses anymore?"  
"Yes, but I don't have that sort of money, now get in"

Sherlock climbed in and looked around. "This is more comfortable than my own bed, is this your living quarters?"

"No." John buckled him in. "Hang on." He started the ignition and drove off towards home; the radio came on, playing some kind of music. Sherlock gasped in delight.

"This is simply amazing, how is this possible? Where is the orchestra?"  
"No orchestra, just well... People play it on a tape and it travels through the air... Into my car really."

"Astounding!" Sherlock exclaimed as he looked round the car, before looking out of the window, looking at the many different sights of London.

They soon arrived back to John's flat and the Doctor quickly led him inside. Sherlock immediately went to the kitchen and started to look round at all the appliances. John watched him silently at the door. Sherlock picked up an egg beater. "What sort of... device is this used for?"

"It's an egg beater." John remarked quietly, going over to the freezer and getting a frozen meal out. Sherlock put the device down and went over, looking at the frozen meal which was labelled "Sunday roast."

"In a box? You cannot fit a chicken into a box this small!" He then looked as John slug the meal into the microwave. "What is this?"

"A microwave, cooks meals, but quicker."  
"Fantastic! Mrs Hudson would love one of these!"

"I don't think that's very wise." John said, getting some plates from the cupboard. Sherlock frowned, and then nodded. "Yes, you are most likely right." Soon the meal was served up and Sherlock was amazed on how it tasted so well. He soon finished and looked at a box in the corner.

"What is that used for?"

"TV. You can watch people on it, oh speaking of which, Scrubs is on." John went over to the TV, Sherlock watched in amazement as he saw people moving on the TV.

"People, live in this you say?"

"No, they live in America or... Wherever. Kind of like the car with the radio, the picture travels through the air and into the TV."

Sherlock sat down, accidently sitting on a remote and making loud rock music blare out from the stereo. He jumped up and gave a cry, looking at the stereo. John quickly shut it off and sighed. "Look, just... Sit down and don't move."

Sherlock nodded. "Gladly."


	3. Chapter 3

When Sherlock awoke the next morning, it took a while to get his bearings and to remember where he was. Blinking softly, he sat up from the couch he had slept on and looked around. Of course, he was still in John's flat. He jumped slightly when he heard a noise from the kitchen. He turned round and spotted John who walked in, wearing a bathrobe. The doctor spotted him.

"Ah, you're awake, how did you sleep?"

"Rather well. I had hoped in what happened to me a dream, but clearly it wasn't. I now have to admit that I am indeed in the future and could possibly stay here for some time."

John looked at him. "Really? Haven't you ever heard of what goes up must come down?"  
"Not particularly. Though I assume it has something to do with gravity?"

"Yes, you came through a portal, there has to be a way to go back through."

"Yes, you're right! There must be a way back through but... I am curious about the modern world."

John raised an eyebrow. "You are?"

"Yes! All these splendid machines that make life so much easier, your car the... Radio, the television all these things are astounding to me and I want to know more!"

"O-Okay, we can go out later today, if you want?"

"Excellent, but first, some breakfast." He went over and grabbed some corn flakes and looked at the side of the box. "Just add milk, rather simple." Whilst John had his back turned, Sherlock grabbed the milk and poured it into the box. John turned round and froze.

Sherlock had grabbed the spoon. "I see that you have done away with dishes, rather silly, but still, allows more food!" John rolled his eyes and turned away, not wanting to watch. And so, later they went out and explored as Sherlock called it, the new world.

Sherlock looked at everything, including the canary wharf as they passed it. "It doesn't look like a canary at all!"

John had to smile. "I don't really know why it's called that, but it is what it is." Sherlock caught up with him, pulling his new shirt slightly. "I must say that these new clothes are rather odd to wear."

"That's because where you come from the clothes normally foot against the body, loose is the new... look." Sherlock nodded and continued to look around. They stopped in a cafe for some lunch. John explained the workings of a hot tuna fish sandwich to Sherlock who seemed more intent of studying it than eating it.

John looked at Sherlock. "So, what's it like where you... Come from?"  
"Hmm? Oh, well much more quiet than this and..." He paused and watched an ambulance go whizzing pass. "We don't have things that are so loud. Although I do enjoy crowds, I must say I do miss the quiet of it."

"Really?" Inquired John, stirring his coffee with his spoon.  
"Yes. You seem to be thinking of something."

John smiled. "Indeed I am. I always wanted to visit 19th century London. The closest we have is just museums of the past and that's it."

Sherlock nodded and looked out the window. "Well perhaps you could come back with me?"

John stopped and looked at Sherlock. "Really? You mean it? Like, actually go back with you, back in time?"

"Well if I could do it, I don't see why no one else could do it. I wonder if anyone from this time had the same experience as I have had."

"Possibly." He looked at the time. "Well half twelve now, what other sights would you like to see?"

"Everything there is to possibly see!" Sherlock exclaimed, excited like a school child. John smiled. "I think I know just the answer. Come on." He took Sherlock from the restaurant.

"But what about our cutlery?"  
"Oh they'll clean that up, that's their job."  
"I see some things haven't changed."

They son caught a bus and soon stopped by the river Thames and Sherlock got off the bus followed by John and looked up in wonder, horror and amazement all in one go.

"Good lord what on earth is that?"  
"That, Mr. Holmes is the London eye."


	4. Chapter 4

A.N

Hey guys! I am SO sorry for not updating this story! Ive been so busy with… everything! This will be a short chapter (aren't they all?) jus so I can get back in the mood and get my creative juices flowing agin. Enjoy!

Sherlock gasped in amazement at the large structure before him. "Interesting." He said, once he had the power of speech again. "It is based on a bicycle wheel, is it not?"

John nodded. "Yep. Really expensive and takes ages to get to the front of the queue."  
Sherlock seemed confused. "Wait a moment, you say… People pay to go on that thing?"  
"Yep."  
"To see London I suppose?"  
"Yep."  
"Fascinating."

Leaving the London eye, they carried on down the river side, finally stopping at a Starbucks café. John looked at Sherlock who watched the people going by. "Do you… Miss where you are from?"

Sherlock looked at him. "In some ways, yes. I miss the quiet of it. Much more quieter than today. But I do love all these new ideas and inventions. For instance, what are those large, loud things that look like boxes in the sky?"

John stifled a laugh. "Planes? Or Helicopters?"  
Sherlock's eyes grew wide. "There are two of them?"  
"Try more like thousands of them. Planes are large, long object with wings like a bird and helicopters are… Well, as you said, a box with wings on the top."

Sherlock nodded, watching John. "You seem remarkably calm to be meeting someone like me."  
"Trust me, after working in the hospital for half of my life, you see some rather strange things. You are not the first. I once saw a woman got stuck through a toilet seat. Had to call the fire brigade to cut her loose."

Sherlock laughed softly and finished his coffee off. "So, you say that my life, my friends and cases are nothing but a work of fiction."  
"Yeah, not every day you get to meet one your heroes from books."  
"Am I a hero of yours then?"

John couldn't help but to blush a bit. "Well er… In a way. I read the books whilst I was growing up. I was a sick child you see, often ill so I just devoured book after books."  
Sherlock nodded. "That is rather…" He trailed off, not being able to find a word.  
"Awesome?"  
"Yes! Awesome. Oh I do like that word. What does it mean?"  
"I suppose it means… That something is very very good. Another one is cool."

Sherlock smiled. He would have to remember those words. Later that evening, they arrived back at the flat. Sherlock watched the Television with interest whilst John was in the kitchen, making dinner. Sherlock soon joined him. He sat down on the chair and ate the Chinese frozen meal John placed before him. Sherlock ate but watched John.

"For a man who lives with all these comforts and fantastic inventions around him, you do not seem happy in this world."

John smiled. "Nice deducing. No, sometimes the world moves too fast for my liking. If we ever figure out how to get you home. I would love to see your world."

Sherlock pondered this. "A modern doctor in the 1800's? Think of what you could bring to the medical profession man, the lives you could save."

John smiled. "Would be good I suppose."  
"I think the modern metaphor is… Awesome."  
"Touché." Both men laughed. But what they didn't notice was the shelves in the living room filled with Sherlock Holmes books… Were slowly disappearing.


End file.
